


A Strange Way of Saying

by missred



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Festivals, Gen, Hospitals, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:09:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missred/pseuds/missred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick and that time at voodoo fest. Patrick doesn't need words to say "I love you".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Strange Way of Saying

It was hotter than hell in New Orleans. The air was sticky and Pete was regretting the dark black pants and top he’d chosen to wear that day. They were playing Voodoo vest, which was _awesome._ The humidity was not so awesome. Pete had climbed on the riser and played up there for a bit but Patrick was going into the chorus of “Hum Hallelujah” and Pete wanted back down. So he jumped. He'd done it before, it wasn't a big deal, and always a crowd pleaser. But this time, his legs wobbled, he couldn't keep them perfectly straight, and when he landed he came down hard on his ankle with a crack that left Pete covered in goosebumps. He was flat on his back a half second later, unable to stand while he tried to breathe again. He played it off as a purposeful move, keeping his fingers moving on his bass, keeping up with the song. Not two seconds later he jumped up and walked towards Patrick, who kept singing, though he was shooting Pete worried glances. Pete did a loop around the stage to show he was alright, white flashes jumping across his vision from the pain. He got back to his mic on stage and stayed there, focused on hitting all the right chords, on finishing the show. He had to remind himself to breath 'cause he kept holding his breath, an automatic reaction, trying to wait out the throbbing insistent pain in his ankle. He figured he sprained it. He'd get it looked out after the show. 

 ****As it turned out, he barely had to wait that long. Patrick rushed him before Pete had even begun to think about hobbling off stage. He was sweaty and solid and _Patrick_ and he collided with Pete moments after the set finished.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" He hissed, low and close in Pete's ear. Pete was trying to figure out why Patrick had practically tackled him, when Patrick adjusted his grip on Pete's shoulders and shifted one hand to his gut, heaving Pete over his shoulders. Patrick was five foot four pounds of nothing but he began marching with determination towards the medic station, as if he hadn't just slung Pete over his shoulders like the fucking _Hulk.  
_

_"_ Hey Patrick, I appreciate the gesture really, but I can walk man, I'm--"

"If you say "good" right now Wentz," Patrick huffed, "I am going to punch you in your stupid face."

Pete shut his mouth. Andy and Joe caught up quickly and Andy offered to help Patrick with Pete, but Patrick had glared darkly, and that had been the end of that. Pete was pleased. Patrick was muttering "idiot, idiot, stupid, goddamn idiot," over and over in some sort of private mantra, Pete thought he could detect a tone that clearly said  _my_ idiot. And he was alright with that. He wasn't exactly comfortable, Patrick's shoulder was sort of squishing all the air out of his lungs, but he wasn't going to complain. 

When they reached the medic tent, Patrick dumped Pete roughly onto a stretcher, refusing to acknowledge Pete's groans of discomfort or meet his eye.

"He broke his ankle jumping off a riser." Patrick told the medic, who fortunately wasn't tending to any heat-struck concert goers at the moment.

The medic seemed unfazed. "Let's take a look."

Pete bit his tongue to keep from shouting when the medic removed his shoe, but he couldn't hold back a long and low "fuckkk" as he rolled up Pete's pant leg. What he saw made Pete's stomach lurch, and he was twisting sideways to avoid puking in his lap before he was retched over the side of the stretcher.

Pete's entire foot was swollen to more than twice its usual size, and had turned a concerning mixture of yellow, purple and green. Pete's usually pretty impressed with gory shit, but he hadn't exactly been prepared to see it on a limb attached to _him_.

The medic kept calm put agreed that something was probably broken. Patrick didn't say a single word on the taxi ride to the hospital, Joe in the front seat and Pete with his fucked up ankle spread across Andy and Patrick's lap.

It took several hours they really didn't have to spare before Pete got wheeled back for an xray. Patrick was silent throughout all of it, lips pressed tight in a hard line. The doctor who brought back the xray explained that Pete had cracked the bone that connected his foot to his shin. The doctor got him crutches but he wasn't allowed to use them until after he'd been wheeled out of the hospital. Joe and Andy had both headed back to the festival site to make sure their shit got packed on the right bus and all that, and Patrick was alone right outside the hospital doors.

Pete offered him a weak smile but Patrick stayed tense, shoulder's raised, as he helped Pete up. Pete leaned on the crutches and Patrick and slid ungracefully into the back of the taxi.

"Are you gonna stop being mad at me any time this year or should I clear my calender?" Pete tried.

Patrick let out a deep sigh and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, rubbing hard.

"I'm not mad Pete."

Pete's brow furrowed. This was mad if he ever saw it.

"You could have been seriously hurt. You _were_   seriously hurt. What if it wasn't just your ankle? What if you fucked up your whole leg?"

Pete let out a relieved laugh, bubbling out of him before he could stop it.

Patrick scowled.

"Why are you laughing asshole, this is serious!"

"You--were--worried." Pete bit out between gasps.

"Well..yeah." Patrick sounded like the confused one now.

"Rick, Trickster, my one and only Pattycakes--"

"--quit it! You and your damn "nicknames".." Patrick grumbled.

"Bones heal Patrick, it's not a big deal. The doc even said he can get me one of those rocker boots so we don't have to cancel any shows. And they gave me the good stuff til then. I don't feel _shit_ man, everything's okay."

"Just because we don't have to cancel shows doesn't mean everything's okay." Patrick muttered. "You're reckless."

"I was putting on a good show." Pete rolled his eyes, surprised at how upset Patrick seemed over this. Yeah, it sucked, but it wasn't really that big of a deal.

"You think the fans want you to break bones for showmanship?" Patrick returned.

"I think I've jumped off plenty of risers before."

"And I think you shouldn't have!" Patrick shouted. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips tight again, turning away from Pete.

Pete forced his hands into Patrick's, ignoring the way Patrick fought him on it.

"Hey--I'll be more careful next time, okay?"

Patrick whipped his head around.

"There shouldn't be a next time."

"I'm okay Patrick."

"Tell that to your foot." Patrick groused.

But he let Pete nudge his way into his side and rest his head on his shoulder. As the venue approached, Pete squeezed Patrick's hand twice, their own morse code. It took a second, but after a beat, Patrick squeezed back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill.


End file.
